


A Thousand (Or Six) More

by charliechick117



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Love Poems, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliechick117/pseuds/charliechick117
Summary: A poem for each defining moment during the 6000 year slow burn.And poems for the thousand (or six) more years to come.





	1. 4004 B.C.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to write a fic about the 6000 years of being in love, but that's basically the entire show? And when I started writing it, it didn't feel right and so instead this is a series of poems about the longest love story ever told.
> 
> Something about them just feels like poetry and I can't explain it but that's how it feels to me.

The Garden was  
green.  
The type of green he had  
forgotten.

It had been so long since he  
fell  
walked  
sauntered  
made the wrong friends  
that he almost forgot the feel of  
sun  
and the look of  
green.

He'd been surrounded by  
black walls and  
dark shadows and  
one red King.

Bursting from the ground and  
seeing  
feeling  
_breathing_  
for the first time since the  
Fall. 

Afterwards.  
After the tempting he didn't want to  
go back.  
Not back to the  
dark, the  
crowds, the  
claustrophobic spaces.

Not after he had seen  
sunlight.

A lonely figure on a high wall.  
Stalwart, strong, angelic.

Alone.

Instead of creeping back to hell,  
he made his way up,  
rising upon the wall and standing beside  
an Angel.

Aziraphale,  
who talked with him,  
not down to him,  
who smiled and laughed,  
and didn't scoff.

Who gave away his sword.

Aziraphale.  
Who was suddenly a  
light, a  
sun, a   
breath of fresh air,  
for a little crawly demon.


	2. 3004 B.C.

Ineffable.

That was the plan.  
Incomprehensible and  
inevitable.

A lowly angel, stationed on Earth, couldn't possibly know  
the ineffable plan.

He wasn't allowed to  
question.  
He was created to  
obey.

Yet he watched with  
apprehension,  
guilt,  
uncertainty,  
as the thundering clouds came in.

"You can't kill kids."

But you could.  
Provided there was a  
higher, moral purpose.

One could, conceivably, kill kids.

For the future of the world,  
he supposed.

For the greater good,  
he suspected.

Curious that the only comfort for this  
angel  
came from his hereditary enemy.

Strange that he wanted to  
confess,  
comfort,  
care for,  
this demon.

Crawley.  
A fallen angel.  
The adversary.  
The original tempter.

Who openly wore his  
confusion.  
Who always asked his  
questions.

Things that Aziraphale would never,  
could never,  
do. 

The rains came.  
The floods rose.  
The children died.

In the long years following,  
with the rising and falling of  
kingdoms,  
when he wanted to question,  
wanted to protest,  
wanted to  _know_

Aziraphale missed the comfort of  
a demon.


	3. Intermission

Tale as old as time itself.  
A love story predicted to span the universe.

The star crossed lovers.

A demon and an angel.

It was ridiculous.

Years passed.  
Thousands of years and  
one demon and  
one angel  
kept crossing paths.

Just in passing.  
A smile and a wave and  
off they went their  
separate ways.

Tempting and Blessing  
in equal measure.

And always,  
always,  
always,  
thinking of the other.

Azriaphale thinking of  
the demon  
who showed him  
kindness.

Crawley thinking of   
the angel  
who didn't turn him  
away.

Maybe they were friends.  
Or at least  
almost friends.


	4. 41 A.D.

It was hardly  
any time  
at all

and yet it felt like  
another  
three thousand years.

Sitting alone in   
a bar.

The weight of the  
Crucifixion still  
heavy on his  
mind.

On his  
heart.

When a familiar  
voice  
broke through his  
thoughts.

He looked different.  
Shorter hair,  
dark glasses,  
but there was no denying

Crowley.

And Aziraphale  
went to him.

Unsure what to say  
but happy to see his  
friend.

But the conversation was  
stilted and  
awkward and  
he couldn't see  
Crowley's  
eyes.

Aziraphale persisted.

If the death of  
Christ  
weighed heavy on  
an angel

then how much  
worse  
it must be for  
Crowley to carry.

The fallen angel  
who knows the feeling of  
abandonment.

It had been  
four thousand years  
since they met and  
Aziraphale  
would fall himself before seeing  
Crowley gone.

At last,  
with a quip about tempting,  
there was that smile.  
A little demonic  
grin  
that Aziraphale wanted to see.

The oysters were  
delicious  
and the company  
even more so.


	5. 1941

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Temporary note: I do plan on writing something for each of those historical moments in episode 3, but THIS MOMENT wouldn't wait its turn so it is here first. The rest to follow and it will be chronological when it's over.

Betrayal.

Over some  
books.

All he could think about was  
the paperwork.

Dying was never  
easy.  
Not even for  
Aziraphale.

There would be a  
requisition for a new  
corporation which  
takes  
time.

And what about his  
bookshop?  
What about his  
friend?

So caught up in  
numbers and  
figures and  
paperwork that  
Aziraphale didn't notice

a skipping demon.

Burning his  
damned feet  
on consecrated ground  
to save  
Aziraphale.

It had been so long since  
the Park, since  
the Question and  
it was a relief to watch  
Crowley dance.

They were still friends.

"It would take a  
true miracle  
for my friend and I to  
survive it."

Aziraphale laughed.

Changing the course of the planes was  
an easy miracle.

Surviving a bombing run was  
an easy miracle.

Crowley being here was  
the truest miracle.

The bomb fell and,  
with hardly a blip on his power,  
Angel and Demon  
survived.

But -

"The books!"

How could he have  
forgotten  
his precious books.  
First editions he had  
scoured the Earth for.

Gone.

Blown up with the bomb.

Aziraphale,  
focused on keeping himself  
and his friend  
alive,  
forgot about his  
books.

"Little demonic  
miracle  
of my own."

A warm leather  
handle passed over,  
the weight of his books,  
his precious books,  
familiar even as  
Crowley pulled away.

Angels are meant to  
love.  
It's in their  
nature.

Beings of light and of love they  
feel and  
love and  
know.

And Aziraphale had felt  
love  
for Crowley but  
not  
like  
this.

They had been  
friends.  
They had the  
arrangement.  
They worked together,  
helped each other,  
ate lunch and  
watched plays

but they were  
friends.

Two immortals on Earth together had to be.

Yet this feeling was   
so  
much  
_more._

This was a  
pounding heart and  
sweaty palms and  
nerves alight and  
dry mouth and

love and

love

love

love.


	6. The Very Last Day of the Rest of Their Lives

It was much  
brighter  
than he remembered.

Wide open windows  
looking down on  
Earth  
and large open spaces  
without an  
angel in sight.

Tied to a chair and  
facing destruction  
it took all his  
willpower  
to not glare the  
archangels  
into oblivion.

These were the  
angels  
who had terrorized  
Aziraphale.

These were the  
angels  
who had turned away  
Crowley.

But he was in the  
wrong body  
and so he said  
nothing.

 

_It was dark and damp  
_ _with flickering lights  
and the stench of_   
_demons._

_There was a_   
_trial_   
_and a death sentence_   
_and the constant_   
_glare of oppression._

_Here was a demon_   
_who had been_   
_revered_   
_by hell,_

_who was entrusted_   
_(and failed)_   
_to deliver the_   
_Antichrist,_

_who was sent to_   
_die._

_He put on a_   
_brave face_   
_and_   
_graciously_   
_stood trial._

 

No trial.  
No speaking.  
Not even a chance  
to defend himself.

Just step into  
the fire  
and die.

His heart ached  
and his blood boiled.

He could burn up these  
angels  
show them justice  
and he would  
relish  
in their deaths

but it would be  
wrong.

Aziraphale  
would never do such a thing.

Biting his tongue,  
grateful beyond hope that  
he stood here instead of the angel,  
Crowley stepped into the flames.

 

_The sound of water_   
_echoed in the small_   
_chamber_   
_and the demons all_   
_shrunk away_   
_from the glass._

_And it was_   
_the holiest water,_   
_blessed by Michael and_   
_tested by Hastur._

_He let himself_   
_relax_   
_just a little_   
_knowing he would_   
_live through this._

_It wasn't_   
_Crowley_   
_in the bathtub_   
_burning up and dying._

_It wasn't him here_   
_listening to his trial_   
_sentenced to death_   
_and watched by the legions_   
_of hell._

_Stripped down,_   
_saving the jacket,_   
_Aziraphale fell backwards_   
_into the bathtub._

 

 

Back in the Garden.

Side by side.

Alive and Together.

Again.

Hand in Hand.

Time slows.

 

Crowley flexed his fingers.  
Stretched his toes.  
Tried to brush off the  
last of heaven.

_Aziraphale shook._   
_Tensed his muscles_   
_and breathed._

 

Free from obligation.

They had nothing but time.

No one to check on them.

No one to hide from.


End file.
